Beyond Imagination
by MyraValhallah
Summary: Christine left the Opera House very suddenly aged eleven, seven years later she returns carrying with her a secret which will change everything and turn Erik's world upside down forever. E/C
1. Prologue

_**Welcome to my new story m'dears.**_

 _ **I was watching the Phantom 25th anniversary show on YouTube a few weeks ago and got to thinking: what if Christine knew what it was like to be ostracised for something as beyond her control as Erik's deformity is to him? What if there was something beyond music which could bring them together?**_

 _ **This is the result.**_

* * *

 _ **Prologue**_

It was early yet, but the air was warm and the day promised to be the warmest that summer had brought to Paris thus far. No one noticed the young woman who seemed to step out of thin air and join the flow of foot traffic heading towards the Rue Scribe. The woman wore a blue dress and a matching hat, pinned onto her brown hair; in her hand she carried a carpet bag. She was alone but walked with the confidence of one with intimate knowledge of her surroundings. The woman walked until she was right outside the Palais Garnier. She looked up at the grand theatre and smiled.

* * *

Time is relative. Erik; a man better known as the Phantom of the Opera; was approximately twenty eight years old- not that he was counting- but he felt terribly old. Erik recalled a time when his life had meant something, days when there was someone in the theatre who would care if he just disappeared.

He was completing his rounds of the Opera House, ensuring that Lefevre was following his instructions when a figure crossed the threshold. Erik's breath hitched- he would know this woman anywhere. He had not seen her since her sudden disappearance not long before her twelfth birthday, but Erik knew her on sight.

"Christine." He whispered, quite unable to help himself.

Finally, after seven long years, Christine Daae had come home.

~v~


	2. Chapter One

**_Thank you to everyone who has read, followed and/or favourited this story and special thanks to ElsieEdwina for her lovely review :)_**

 ** _This chapter is quite short, but they are going to get longer as the story progresses._**

* * *

 _ **Chapter One**_

Erik followed Christine to Lefevre's office, and as she waited to be seen he took the opportunity to study her. The eleven year old Christine had been a coltish, blue eyed blonde. At some point during her seven year absence from the Opera she had blossomed into a true beauty. Her hair had darkened to a rich chestnut brown and she had well and truly grown into her long limbs.

When at last Christine was admitted to the office, Erik followed her, passing behind her like a second shadow, knowingly he wouldn't be perceived unless he allowed himself to be. If his little protégée was coming home to stay then the Opera Ghost would do his best to ensure that she would shine before all of Paris as she was surely meant to.

"Yes Mademoiselle?" The manager asked.

Christine introduced herself to the man who had replaced M. Moncharmin as manager during her absence, and much to Erik's delight, expressed a desire to return to live and hopefully perform as part of the chorus.

"You want a place in the chorus?" Lefevre echoed. "I thought you had been in the corps de ballet?"

Indeed she had been; Mme Giry had insisted upon that, despite Christine proving time and again that she'd had the proverbial two left feet.

"I was," Christine nodded, running her left hand up her right arm in a familiar nervous gesture. "but after seven years my dancing is woefully out of practice."

Lefevre dabbed at his forehead; his own nervous gesture which instantly roused Erik's suspicion. "Unfortunately Mademoiselle, I cannot offer a place in the chorus, we are not holding auditions at this time."

Erik scowled at the manager from over Christine's shoulder. As manager, Lefevre could hire as many chorus members as he, or rather Erik, liked.

Christine deflated. "Then is there any other position available? Please Monsieur, I'm desperate."

 _"Hire her Lefevre,"_ Erik hissed, throwing his voice so it sounded only in the manager's ear. Christine didn't need to start out on the stage, it was not unheard of for performers to start out in supporting occupations. _"hire her or twenty thousand francs a month will be the least of this theatre's problems."_

 _"_ C-can you sew, Mademoiselle?" Lefevre asked.

Christine nodded, apparently ignorant of the manager's sudden bout of nerves. "I can."

"Then I believe Mademoiselle, that we have a position available in the costume department." He looked at her over steepled fingers. "If that is acceptable to you."

"Yes," Christine nodded. "Yes, thank you so much, Monsieur."

* * *

Someone was following her. She had been able to sense something, _someone_ trailing her as she passed through the foyer of the theatre on her way to visit the manager whom she had been saddened to learn was not kind old M. Moncharmin. Her silent companion did not appear to realise that she could feel the magic rolling off them; they certainly did not seem able to feel hers.

It was this fact that allowed Christine to retain her composure. This person probably did not realise what they were. He or she was most likely a child, a street urchin who had inadvertently rendered themselves invisible in an attempt to remain unnoticed by the gendarmerie.

Christine pretended that she was as oblivious to the third party's presence as the manager was as she and M. Lefevre hammered out the details of her employment and opportunity for auditions should they occur. She would draw the poor child somewhere private and do her duty, one sorcerer to another.

* * *

It did not take long for Christine and Lefevre to conclude their business. As the ink dried on Christine's contract, she and Lefevre shook hands and he told her to return to the theatre early the next morning to meet with Mme Perriot, the costume mistress so she could learn her duties.

"Thank you Monsieur," Christine said, and Erik was a little surprised to hear her voice thicken with emotion as she spoke. "You can't know how much this means to me."

"Yes, well..." Lefevre swallowed, dabbing at his brow again; obviously as little accustomed to dealing with emotional females as Erik himself. "It's of no matter."

Christine left the office with the still unheeded Erik in tow.

* * *

Gustave Lefevre sighed in relief as Mlle Daae left his office. It was not often that he heard the Ghost speak, but each time he did it was as if an icicle had been dropped down the back of his shirt. In the four years since he had taken over as manager, Gustave had resigned himself to allowing the Ghost to have his way in all matters- it had always proven beneficial to the theatre, and was the only reason he had not turned to alcohol in order to make it through the day.

If the Ghost wanted Mlle Daae here then she was welcome, as long as she kept the bastard quiet.

~v~

* * *

 _ **Next time: Our protagonists meet and a deal is struck**_


	3. Chapter Two

_**Hi guys,**_

 _ **I said there was a deal struck in this chapter, but its probably not the one you might think.**_

 _ **Thanks, as always, to everyone who has followed and/or favourited this story since I last updated. And special thanks to: Unnamed Wanderer, UnmaskedHearts, Phantom01, ElsieEdwina and Grandma Paula for your lovely reviews. :)**_

 _ **Grandma Paula: If you're still reading, Thank you, yes future chapters will get longer, I estimate about two more short ones before we really get started.**_

* * *

 _ **Chapter Two**_

Christine Daae left M. Lefevre's office and began to make her way down to the chapel where once upon a time she had conversed with an Angel. Losing the Angel of Music had been the worst thing about leaving the Opera House as a child. Being on the cusp of adolescence at the time of her departure Christine had been beginning to to wish that the Angel that her father had sent could be a boy, someone tangible, someone she could kiss like Raoul had been.

Christine clamped down on that train of thought; neither the Angel, nor dear practicing Catholic Raoul would want anything to do with her. Not when, in their view, she was a heathen, supposedly wed to satan. A romance between a witch and a Catholic nobleman was almost as laughable as one between said witch and an Angel.

Arriving at the doorway to the chapel, Christine set down her bag; off to one side out of the way; and pausing only to ensure that her wand was safely on her person, she crossed the threshold. It was perhaps, inadvisable to carry a tool considered evil by Christian doctrine onto ground dedicated to that faith, but after so long, she would feel lost without it.

Well, she didn't burst into flame, so Christine moved further into the room. She crossed to sit by the altar as she had when she would light a candle for her father when she was a child.

" _Christine._ "

Christine stiffened at the sound of her name. She was seven years old again in that moment, as the Voice called out to her.

"Angel?" she whispered.

" _I am here Christine, welcome home."_

There was a sick moment of realisation as it dawned on Christine that somewhere in the back of her mind she had recognised the magical signature which had been following her from the moment she had entered the theatre once more. She had once wished that the Angel of Music had been a boy, now it transpired that she her wish had been granted. Her Angel of old and her silent shadow, now present, were one and the same.

Christine Daae drew her wand.

* * *

Erik watched in confusion as Christine produced a wooden baton from the pocket of her dress and pointed it, as if it were a sword or dagger, directly at his chest.

"Who are you Monsieur?" She asked.

Erik forced himself to laugh. "What do you mean child? Have you forgotten your Angel of Music?"

"If you were an Angel you would not associate with me." She informed him, her baton not moving an inch. "Now show yourself Monsieur."

Erik remained motionless. How did she know where he was?

The stick in Christine's fingers twitched.

Erik felt the same cool sensation trickle down his back that he had come to associate with his ability to become invisible. Wide eyed, Christine was on her feet in an instant, the hand holding the baton rising in a defensive manner.

She could _see_ him.

It could have been seconds, or it could have been hours that the masked man and the young woman stared at each other in tense silence. Both wary, both waiting to see how the other would react. Then both spoke at the same moment.

"How can you see me?"

"Who are you, Monsieur?"

Erik swallowed, thoroughly out of his depth. Were this anyone but Christine he would have killed them in a heartbeat. However, as it was Christine, the one person that he could never cause harm to, he had no idea what to do. Reason stated that he should kill her and flee, but his heart balked at the very notion.

"I will not harm you, Christine." Erik assured her.

The baton did not move. "What were the Angel of Music's first words to me the night he entered my life?"

Erik frowned, puzzled by this question. He remembered every word that they had ever said to one another. But why would she ask this? Was she _testing_ him?

"I asked you, 'Why are you crying little one?' And you returned that you were sad because your father had broken his promise to send the Angel of Music to you."

"And then you said...?" Christine asked, lowering the baton for the first time since she had drawn it out.

Erik felt himself smile, a small rueful smile. "'Not just anyone can be worthy of the Angel of Music.' I may not truly be an Angel my dear, but you were worthy of His attention."

Christine returned the baton to her pocket, not taking her eyes from his. "You have me at a disadvantage Monsieur."

"How so?" Erik asked.

Christine gave him a pointed look. "You know my name Monsieur, but I do not know yours."

"You know who I am."

"By reputation only M. le _fantome_ ," Christine returned. "But you are neither ghost nor Angel, so you must have a name."

Erik found himself laughing, thoroughly enjoying this intelligent, brave, apparently independent woman that his sweet little protégée had grown into during her time away. "Touché ma Cherie, I do have a name."

Blue eyes rolled in their sockets as Christine realised that he was not about to tell her what his name was.

"What is your name then, Monsieur?"

"What is my name worth to you Christine?" Erik asked, only wishing to further his time with Christine.

"What would you ask in return?" Christine returned, looking up at him from beneath her eyelashes.

Erik's eyes widened and it was all he could do to prevent his jaw from dropping open when one look at Christine's face told him that she was well aware of the implications of her question. Erik swallowed, thickly.

And then the sweet innocent Christine Daae he remembered was back. "Forgive me Angel, I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable. In return for your name I will answer one question you have- I'm certain you must have some."

Erik was still struggling with the abrupt change Christine had just gone through. "Something for something?" He managed. "A quid pro quo?"

Christine nodded. "Exactly."

"Erik," he said. "My name is Erik."

"Just Erik?"

Erik's one visible eyebrow rose. "That is two questions, Christine."

"Then answer it and I shall answer two in return."

"Just Erik," he confirmed with a nod. "Reason suggests that I must have a family name but my mother never saw fit to tell me."

The baton was at her side now, held in a loose grip. She extended her right hand to him. "Then M. Erik, it is a pleasure to _finally_ make my tutor's acquaintance."

~v~

* * *

 _ **Next time: we continue from where we left off, and Erik asks his questions. What do you think they will be?**_


End file.
